NOVEL NEXT Chapter 103: The Flu
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Claire: So you see? Mars hasn't got so many things.
Gordon: I mean. . .that's true, but it also doesn't have measles, mumps, rubella, chickenpox, shingles. . .why do you think the intake is so expensive?
Claire: Mars: where they poison incoming colonists until the MMR dies in their veins.
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Sol 502 FY 26, 07:12 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
Marie's fever was 104°.
Vincent was cheerful and unworried, which was nice—because Adya had made the entire experience about herself.
"We should never have let that Earth boy into the habitat," she complained. "Now we have to worry about bacterial infection. If Marie has it, that means he was contagious when he got here, and she's been contagious, and that means I could have this. Or you could have this."
"Settle down," said Vincent. "This is not a big deal. It's a cold. We've all had colds."
"It's the flu," Adya corrected him sharply.
"Ooh," he said, throwing up his hands. "Whatever. One of those. Been a while."
"I'm serious," she said. "He came here with the flu virus. It's been—gone—for years, and all that boy did was start another round."
Vincent looked unimpressed. "It was going to happen eventually."
"I've never had the flu," Adya complained. "And I have no plans to."
"I'm sure you'll survive," Vincent said mildly. "Just as will our daughter."
"Besides," he added, "we have more important things."
Dr. Frank looked uncomfortable.
"Yes," he said. "There's the matter of your daughter's immigration to Earth."
"I did not consent to that," said Adya, sharply.
"You don't have to," the doctor said gently. "I'm advising you of this course of treatment. But your daughter is an adult."
"Just tell us what she's in for," suggested Vincent.
The doctor nodded.
"Your daughter will be wearing an exoskeleton."
He took out a suitcase. Scaffold Mark IV, it said simply on the front.
"Most exoskeletons," the doctor continued, "either give you rails for your movements—that is, they stabilize you—or they give you power for your movements—straight-up mechanical assistance. The Scaffold has been built for the opposite purpose.
"As long as her biometrics are within the allowable range—which will be handled by the sensor suite on the unit, as well as this fiber monitor I'm going to have to install in her arm—the Scaffold will resist her movements. Simulating approximately twice Earth's gravity. Up to 2.2g."
"You're trying to get her ready to go to Earth?" said Vincent.
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"We're trying to get her ready to survive the flight to Earth," corrected the doctor.
"During the flight, there will be sustained periods of high-G. While conducting the final approach to Earth—" he hesitated "—even with padding and neck braces, we've had people break their necks. Or suffer cardiac events. Or strokes.
"The purpose of this therapy is to help acclimate her to the point that she's considered likely to survive reentry to Earth."
He opened the suitcase.
Inside was what looked a whole lot like a stick figure.
The headband on top could be imagined as the head; the spine ran down to the small of the back, where the power supply and sensor suite lived. That could be the body. From there, it split—one line going down each leg, ending in flat, paddle-looking plates for the bottoms of her feet.
The arms of the device connected to an intimidatingly broad shoulder backplate. Every few inches, there was a velcro strap.
"Seems really thin," commented Vincent.
"It's piezoelectric," explained the doctor. "Braided cables. Tougher than it looks."
"How bad is it going to be?" asked Marie.
"Seventy percent of volunteers during the testing refused to continue," the doctor said.
"This would be standard for strength training for Martians—if we could get anyone to wear them.
"It's going to hurt. Where the straps are, you'll bruise. But we can't make it a full-body enclosure or you'll overheat."
He paused.
"After fifteen minutes, you'll begin to hit muscle fatigue."
His statement was frank.
"After thirty, you'll be exhausted. Stop there, and work your way up."
"How about after an hour?" she asked.
"You'll be dead," he said.
"Don't do that."
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She started recording.
It was weak.
She knew it was weak.
She stopped recording.
Gordon, I've been—
That was also weak.
Her portable pinged.
I miss you.
If you were here I would make you cookies with coffee.
A tear trickled down her cheek.
That was exactly the right sort of feeling.
I'm sick, she sent back.
You wouldn't want me to get you sick.
You would be worth it, Gordon replied.
I would get you a hot water bottle, and pillows, and soup.
Talk to me about soup, she texted.
How am I going to tell him, she thought.
She couldn't make her fingers type the words.
I am your Martian invalid, she almost said.
I am a cripple, and I might not be strong enough to go to your world. And you can't come to mine.
I want to hold you, he said.
And take all of your viruses.
Thief, she told him.
I worked hard for those viruses.
My body incubated them.
I made them strong.
I spent valuable resources on those viruses.
You can't have those viruses.
My viruses.
She giggled to herself, wiped her nose, and tried to breathe through it.
Unsuccessfully.
And tell Adya, he said, that I'm sorry if she gets sick.
I've been thinking, Gordon added, and I don't like to admit this—but I think you may have gotten the flu via. . .
. . .'my ejecta'.
Marie made a sound like a laugh and a cough collided.
"I can't believe she called it that," she said aloud, already typing.
No shame at all.
His reply was immediate.
Does that mean I gave you an STD?
Hush, she told him.
Just be pretty.